


Writing Muscle

by DarkTea



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-13
Updated: 2018-09-13
Packaged: 2019-07-11 20:21:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15979787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkTea/pseuds/DarkTea
Summary: Drabbles of random prompts put to a Sherlock (BBC) Universe. Exercise to keep writing and put things on paper.Posted simply in case someone might find some pleasure in reading them.





	Writing Muscle

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a very long time since I wrote anything non-roleplay. I'm trying to get back into the game and this is my dump place. If you have feedback I would love to hear it. Otherwise, I hope you enjoy the snippets of drabbles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The House Was Dusty  
> dailtytextprompt.tumblr.com

The house was dusty, Greg observed from the couch. He didn’t stand up to wipe the dust from the wooden television stand. The dust was floating in the air, exposed by the stroke of sunshine that escaped through the simple, off-white, blinds.  
He had to replace his carpet, the ugly indents from the armchair would never fully go away after years of flattening. Just like the missing armchair, the house was full of voids. The photos were gone from the cupboard behind him, as was the whole cupboard itself. It had been her grandmother’s, obviously, she wanted to take it with her. It had been an old, ugly thing. Antique among the rather homey but modern furniture. It didn’t fit but now there was too much space between the wall and the couch.  
He had given her the vases, parts of the furniture and the large painting of red poppy field landscape. He had the couch, the house and the television.

Greg raised the bottle to his lips, it was empty. He stared through the green glass, finding it truly empty and set it down on the ground. It was his house, he had it before her and now he had it after her. Greg sighed, leaning on his knees and cradled his head. How had everything slipped so far down the fucking hill? 

A shock went through his body when On the Run boomed from his phone.  
‘’Jesus,’’ Greg mumbled as he got himself off the couch. He punched the alarm off, staring at the digital white numbers that indicated 9:00. Two hours, waster by staring at dust. Greg snorted as he slid his phone into his back pocket. From the little nail in the hallway, he grabbed his car keys with a jingle. Shrugging his leather jacket over his dress shirt he gave himself a quick look over in the mirror. 

‘’You look old, mate.’’ He mumbled as he watched the lines in his face. Nevermind the silver streaks in his hair. Greg had accepted those decades ago, but he definitely needed a haircut. Someday. With some adjusting this collar he approved himself as a decent professional. He popped a strong menthol gum in his mouth and opened the door. No need to smell like beer in the morning. 

He looked behind him. He had his car keys. Tonight he would have to get some take out from work. Keys of the front door were inside his jacket. Missed anything? The carpet was ugly and he needed to redecorate, shuffle some furniture. The house was dusty. Tomorrow was going to be a major cleaning day.


End file.
